Curves for the Rakish Duke (Busty Bodice Club #3)

Chapter 1

They called him the Dragon of London because they claimed he set women on fire.

Lady Celeste Harrington watched the Duke of Salcombe weave his way through the crowded ballroom, and she believed every word they said about him.

Oliver Granier was the most physically handsome man she had ever seen in her seven and twenty years.

He moved with a deadly grace. He knew all eyes followed him, most out of envy, some out of spite.

He believed in his worth and Celeste couldn’t help but feel a touch of jealousy.

The duke might also be Celeste’s last chance of fulfilling the task her late father had given her, that of setting up a charity.

It was proving more difficult than she had imagined.

It took money and a great deal of social influence to establish a charity.

Celeste had little of the former and none of the latter.

But with the Dragon’s help, that could change.

The duke paused in front of a hallway that led to a very quiet library.

Her heart quickened. He must have received her note.

He was going to meet her. She had sent the note anonymously, of course.

She’d also not explained her purpose. No good could come from tipping her hand too quickly.

And it might be that he had just happened to pause in front of that hall.

. . but Celeste didn’t believe in happenstance.

He surveyed the glittering, noisy crowd, nodding here and there to those who caught his attention. A willowy young matron blushed. A silver-haired dowager gave him a saucy wink back. Men followed his eye to see what beauties he’d discovered.

Celeste knew he didn’t see her. She was rarely noticed.

In a family of eight proud and beautiful sisters, she was the one usually overlooked.

Perhaps her father had given her such a herculean assignment because he had known how difficult it would be for Celeste to be in charge of anything.

She preferred to be home with her knitting needles, her garden, her cat, and her dogs. She adored dogs.

However, as her father wrote, You have a tender heart. Use it to help others. Create a charity that will help you right some of the wrongs in this world.

The challenge spoke to her soul. And because her father had shown in his last request that he believed in her, she had come to London to set right an egregious wrong she believed must be changed. One that was huge and glaring. One she would truly need a dragon’s help to set right.

The duke turned and strode purposefully down the hall. He was heading for the library. He was going to meet with her. Her daring, daring plan was now set into motion.

Almost panicked, Celeste looked around for her friend Dame Beatrice.

Bea was thirty years older than her seven and twenty, but the only person other than her twin, Georgiana, whom Celeste trusted to help.

By meeting with a renowned rake as the duke privately in such a social setting, Celeste knew she flirted with scandal.

However, how else was she to talk to him?

She couldn’t knock on the door to his residence and they had no friends in common.

Requesting a meeting anonymously had been her only choice.

Bea noticed Celeste’s summons. She bowed out of her conversation with friends and worked her way through the crowd. “Has he taken the bait?” she whispered conspiratorially.

“He has.” With a casualness she was far from feeling, Celeste led her friend across the ballroom and down the hall leading to the library.

They strolled as if admiring the portraits lining the walls.

When they came in sight of the closed library door, Celeste said, “Stand guard where you can see the ballroom and yet be close enough to warn me if we are about to be interrupted.”

“How shall I do that?” Bea asked. “A hand signal?”

“The door will be closed for privacy.”

“I could shout a warning.”

“That might not be wisest.”

“Well, how shall I warn you?” Bea demanded, the ostrich feathers in her hair bouncing with indignation.

Celeste chewed on the problem a moment and then replied, “Greet the person as if you are friends and talk so loudly that I will hear you through the door. That will be my warning to—” She stopped.

She didn’t actually know what she would do.

Perhaps jump out a window? Hide behind the furniture? “It will all work out.”

Bea wasn’t convinced. “Are you certain this is wise? I hear tell the Dragon has a temper.”

Celeste had heard that as well. They said he could be quite humorless when crossed, or when he felt some marriage-minded miss was trying to entrap him.

Apparently, many had tried. Well, he had nothing to worry about on that score from her.

“He’s my last chance to see this charity established, Bea.

It is a risk I must take.” She gave her friend a quick squeeze, walked over to the door, and, with a glance over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching, opened it.

Oliver was in a grumpy mood.

He’d just had words with Prime Minister Liverpool, and in front of Robinson, no less.

They had rejected his ideas without really giving him a hearing.

They’d told him to focus on his seat in the Lords and not think too much.

Change happened slowly, they’d said. Britain needed to recover from the war. They couldn’t stir the pot too quickly.

Oliver could see so many things about his country and his government that needed changing, that he wanted to stir the pot with an oar.

And, no, he did not wish to cool his heels until someone needed his vote.

He believed his input in the planning was equally valuable.

He had ideas, fresh ones, and he hated being patronized—because that was what they had done.

Without speaking the words, they had let him know they considered him. ..frivolous.

The library was lit by a small fire in the hearth. He pulled the missive from the inside pocket of his evening jacket. The handwriting was definitely feminine: Please meet me in the library at your earliest convenience to discuss a matter for your urgent consideration.

Urgent consideration. He smiled grimly. He understood what that meant. Women begged for his favor. He hated being pursued. It made him feel exactly the way Liverpool and Robinson perceived him.

And yet, here he was, because he really had nowhere else to go. He had little family and few friends. Perhaps he was as idle and shallow as his peers thought him? But that was not the man he wished to be.

The room suddenly felt over-warm. He crossed to a window, pulled back the heavy drapes, undid the latch, and lifted the sash. Outside, the early summer night hummed with voices and laughter on the nearby terrace, despite it being unseasonably cool.

On the morrow, the papers would ask where the Duke of Salcombe had gone off to in the middle of a ball. What beauty had captured his attention? There was one correspondent who seemed to delight in asking, “Whom did the Dragon have in his lair?”

Oliver hated the nickname.

He was changing, he told himself. Liverpool might dismiss him as lacking intellectual depth, but he was wrong. Oliver just needed the opportunity to prove his mettle.

So, why was he standing in his host’s library, waiting for some lovely to reveal herself? He’d stopped clandestine assignations a month or so ago.

It was her scent.

He lifted the note to his nose. The perfume had caught him by surprise.

It was not a cloying floral scent as was the fashion.

No, it was light with promise. Cherries, a hint of almond, the barest whiff of rose.

He could breathe this scent forever. It beckoned him.

It stirred his jaded curiosity. He pictured the writer tucking this note into the décolleté of her gown. Letting it rest against her breast.

Oliver lowered the note. Now, he was being ridiculously romantic, and he was not a romantic man.

The door handle turned. She had arrived.

Despite being curiously anxious to meet his mysterious admirer, he stepped back against the curtains instead of moving forward.

A crack of light from the hallway slid across the walls as the door opened…

but instead of a tall, willowy creature, a petite figure slid into the room.

He had the impression of a full, buxom chest and the very feminine curve of hips.

The hearth’s fire highlighted artfully arranged, ale-colored curls.

As she quietly closed the door, he experienced a stab of disappointment.

He was a tall man and liked a woman to be of a certain height. This miss merely came up to his chest.

She looked around the room for him. Her eyes were wide, and he could almost hear the excited beating of her heart as if struck by her own audacity.

In that moment, he knew she wasn’t some practiced seductress, but an innocent.

The scent’s promise had betrayed him. He’d expected someone more alluring.

The chit didn’t notice him immediately. Probably because his dark evening clothes helped him fit into the shadows. So, he let her know he was there.

“If your intent was a bit of debauchery,” he said, enjoying how his deep voice startled her as she whirled to face him, “I am sorry to disappoint you. I don’t seduce virgins.”

Instead of blushing or being ashamed of her brazen behavior, she answered, “That is good to know. I shall let down my guard. Then again, I am no miss just out of the school room. Perhaps you fear being compromised by me? Or ‘debauched?’ Such a silly word. I don’t even like the sound of it.”

And in that moment, just that easily, Oliver was charmed.

What an interesting, courageous little mouse she was.

Soft and round and buxom with the most extraordinary eyes.

Their large, almond shape reflected the firelight like twin flames.

Seconds before, he’d been cataloguing her faults.

He now noticed her assets. Beyond her obvious endowments, her skin was perfect, with just a hint of rosy blush, as if she were far too aware of how forward she was being and could not help herself.

She was also very well dressed in her soft green silk. Her gloves were of good kidskin and the hairpins holding her curls in place had jeweled tips.

Then, from across the room, he caught a hint of her scent, the same as that of the notepaper. His blood quickened. Perhaps he was ready for a little debauchery…

But first, “Who are you, little mouse?”

Her nose scrunched with distaste as if she didn’t like nicknames either. “I am Lady Celeste Harrington. My brother is the Duke of Kenbrooks.”

“I don’t know Kenbrooks. I’ve heard of him, but our paths have never crossed. However, I am certain he would not be happy to know I am alone in our host’s library with his sister.”

“Being a rake must be very tiresome.”

She was right. Still, he couldn’t admit it. “The ladies like it,” he replied.

Lady Celeste hummed a noncommittal sound that snapped Oliver out of his good humor, especially on the heels of Liverpool’s dismissal. “If you aren’t interested in an assignation, then why did you summon me here?”

“Because I have been observing you, Your Grace.” She clasped her gloved hands in front of her like a soprano preparing to warble. “I think I know what you need.”

He folded his arms. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“A chance to reform.”